


diversion

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Will Graham, Breeding, Breeding Kink, Come Eating, Come Marking, Dark Will Graham, Dildos, Dom Hannibal Lecter, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Forced Orgasm, Fucking Machines, Gags, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Humiliation, Jealousy, M/M, Male Lactation, Masochism, Masturbation, Mild Blood, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Clamps, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Pain, Painplay, Possessive Behavior, Punishment, Restraints, Rope Bondage, Sadism, Sex Toys, Shame, Spanking, Sub Will Graham, Will Graham is a Cannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 21:37:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18213965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: Hannibal's wrath is beautiful, his love violent and divine, but his disappointment is the worst pain Will can imagine.





	diversion

Will's eyes fly open, his breath hitching in a near-soundless gasp, as Hannibal enters the room. He whines, sweat plastered to his face and neck, his chest flushed with warm blood, his cock heavy and leaking between his legs, and the soft whir of the fucking machine pounding away at his prostate, never faltering, not _quite_ enough. The dildo Hannibal attached to it is short and thick, and fills Will nicely, stretching his sore rim wide, but it doesn't get deep like he really likes it, doesn't let him writhe and moan and work himself back onto it because the rhythm is too fast for him to do so.

Around his cock is another device, encasing him, pulsing loosely but hanging limp, and Will can't use his hands, bound as they are above his head, to get more pressure, to set up a rhythm he likes. This is how Hannibal left him – strung out, open and used and useless, panting and moaning into the pillows beneath his head, and left to shudder and tremble and not _quite_ find relief.

Hannibal has visited him three times before this one, and just as he has done every time before, Will turns his head, moans weakly, arches desperately into the brush of Hannibal's warm hand along his shoulders. His back is coated with Hannibal's come, sticky and drying and mingling with his sweat. His thighs, sweetened with it, his hair, knotted into snarls and tangles as Hannibal pets through it, tugging on a knot.

He whimpers, so sensitive, so sore, as the machines move and pulse, inside him and around him, and jerks with a harsh whine when Hannibal pinches one of his peaked nipples. It took a lot of coaxing, of training, and hormones in his wine, but Hannibal was confident and assured – "I want you wet everywhere, darling, dripping for me constantly."

And he is, he _is_ , and he shivers as a weak spurt of milk ekes out of his flushed, swollen chest. Wets his red mouth with his tongue and moans as Hannibal tugs on his nipple again, the gush of sweet milk coating his fingers.

Hannibal smiles, and though Will knows making milk has nothing to do with arousal, Hannibal has been so thorough with the correlations that Will has come to associate the leak with another surge of pleasure, that tightens his belly and makes his head grow hot and heavy, his neck limp.

He hears Hannibal sucking on his fingers, loud and obscene, and another fissure of want curls down his spine, makes him tighten around the dildo as it fucks into him.

"What a sweet breeder you are, my boy," Hannibal purrs, petting through Will's hair again, tugging to get him to lift, though he can only brace his cheek on his straining bicep and breathe, slow-blinking so he can see Hannibal's smile. Will moans as Hannibal feeds him his fingers, wet with milk and saliva, curls his tongue lazily between Hannibal's knuckles.

Hannibal pulls his fingers out, and collects the silver chain and small clamps sitting on the bedside table – a promising shine that makes Will shiver and moan. He pushes one knee to the bed, pets Will's flushed, heaving chest, and attaches the clamps to Will's nipples, lets the teeth sink in until Will jerks, screaming, overstimulated and leaking all over the bed.

"Hush, sweet boy," Hannibal murmurs, petting Will's hair as he lets the chain hang, and the brutal way the machine is fucking him makes the chain swing, brushing over the bed, tugging on his nipples, and Will whimpers and trembles, his knuckles white around the ropes binding him to the headboard. Soon, even the pull on his nipples melts to a grotesque cacophony of pleasure, and Will's cries turn to whimpers, and moans, soothed under Hannibal's warm hands.

Hannibal rises from the bed, petting down Will's heaving flanks, and tuts at the sight of the dildo fucking in and out of Will's sore rim. "So long, and you haven't made this stud come inside you yet," he says, heavy with disapproval, though they both know, of course, dildos can't fill Will like Hannibal can. "Aren't you a good enough fuck for him?"

Will gasps. Hannibal so rarely swears, and every time he does it strikes Will behind the eyes, makes him tense and writhe like a man possessed. Still, he can only moan, as Hannibal thumbs at his rim, stretching him wider still.

"Oh," Hannibal says, and huffs a laugh. "You've gone quite dry. Pity."

Will whimpers, shakes his head. "Please," he gasps, the word barely a breath.

He howls, tightening and shaking, the ricochet of pain from Hannibal's open palm cracking across his skin sliding up his back, making him twitch in the pulsing toy, bow to his chest so the clamps rub and tug mercilessly on his nipples.

"Breeders don't speak, boy," Hannibal snarls, and hits him again. Will closes his eyes, his ass stinging, every part of him too sensitive to bear touch – yet touch Hannibal does, continues with another set of firm swats to Will's ass until he cries out again.

Hannibal makes a low sound, considering, and flattens his hands on Will's ass, spreading him wider around the rhythmic thrusts of the dildo. Finally, he sighs, and his hands move, and Will sobs with relief when the toy goes still, buried inside him.

The bed dips, and the toy comes out of him, and Will sobs again, desperate to collapse, to put pressure and the weight of his belly on the thing around his cock, he's sure he can come just rutting, sure of it, if only he could move a _little_.

He moans weakly as another toy returns, this one slimmer but much longer, the ridges along the bottom of it edging along his rim. It's slick, new lubricant introduced, and goes into his fucked-out hole easily, bumping his rim, and Will is helpless for the stimulation, and groans as the head of it nudges over his prostate.

Then, he screams, as the machine starts up, and the toy fucks him hard, slamming deep, those ridges and bumps dragging along his prostate and oh _God_ , that's so much better. He's going to come, he's going to -.

Hannibal's hand wraps around the pulsing toy on his cock, tugs on it, and Will sobs as he's freed, his cock dripping thickly onto the bed, and he flinches from the cool air, whimpering as the movements of his body make the clamps and chain hanging from his nipples swing anew, torturous, it hurts so much.

Hannibal makes a soft, falsely sympathetic tutting noise, and pets through his hair. "Don't worry, darling, I have plenty of studs lined up to try breeding you," he purrs, and Will moans raggedly, because he knows – Hannibal is good inside him, fucks him like nothing else can, but he seems obsessed with the idea of Will taking other cocks. Too possessive to let it be another man, but indulgent enough in his own curiosities to buy a myriad of surrogates.

"Please," Will whimpers, knowing he'll get hit again for speaking, but he can't help himself; "Please, Sir, I need -."

Hannibal hits him, hard, on his pink ass, sends another roll of pain up Will's body and he sobs, tears falling, that burn so hotly on his face, as he bows his head and Hannibal rains down another set of hard, merciless hits, that make Will spasm around the toy until the bumps hurt, and the chain ruts and coils, and Will trembles, milk gushing from his nipples, beading on the chain and dripping down to form a pool beneath his chest.

"I know what you need, and when," Hannibal snarls, and hits him again, open-handed and hard. Then, he pauses, and rises from the bed again, and Will shakes his head because he knows what Hannibal is going to get – he doesn't like being gagged, doesn't want anything between his teeth that isn't food or flesh – but he parts his lips obediently as Hannibal comes to him, grabbing his chin tightly, and works the gag into his mouth. It's steel, cold on Will's teeth, and has flat pieces on either side to fit between his molars, a large ball in the middle to threaten choking him if he doesn't swallow his saliva back quick enough.

Hannibal smiles, and straps it through his come- and sweat-soaked hair, and sighs, satisfied when Will merely takes it, too limp to fight. Will's fingers flex and he moans, hiding his face between his arms, tries to work his hips back onto the dildo as it fucks him with that same slow, hard rhythm. He can come like this – he can come without being touched when Hannibal fucks him. And he's still hard, despite the pain, despite the abuse.

Hannibal hums, and works his fingers through the milk coating the chain. Gives it a savage tug so Will screams and drips saliva onto the pillows. That makes him smile, and he licks his fingers clean, and rises from the bed, content to leave Will to it.

Will screams, but the sound is muffled now, and Hannibal has never relented under his pained cries and desperate begging before – he won't start any time soon. Without Hannibal's touch on him, Will can only feel the _fucking_ toys – the dildo, piston-like through him, jolting every nerve with those bumps and ridges, stretching Will's rim and battering his neglected prostate. His nipples, raw and ragged and dripping. His mouth, sore, his wrists burning from the ropes.

He might come. He whimpers, bowing his chest, and oh, _there_ , _fuck_. The toy sinks into him, the whir of the machine deafened by the sound of his rushing blood. He's going to come, but he hasn't asked permission and Hannibal hasn't granted it – and Will can't ask, with the gag in his mouth and Hannibal out of the room.

He moans, as loud as he can, frantic and pawing at the headboard. Shudders, tries to work his hips so the toy doesn't touch him anywhere sensitive, but now that it's found him it won't let him go. He whimpers, clenches his eyes tightly shut, tries to think of any and everything he can to stay his orgasm, but he can't – every thought is flooded with Hannibal, his scent etched deep in the blankets and pillows, his dominion a sharp reminder in the presence of the clamps and chain, the dildo, the bright pink toy Hannibal left discarded between Will's knees.

He whimpers, and sobs as he's overwhelmed, flung straight to the edge of the cliff and then right over it. He screams into the gag, choking on his saliva, shuddering as the toy, of course, doesn't stop – fucks in and in and in over his prostate as Will moans, overstimulated beyond belief, too ragged and raw to bear it. It crests on him in unending waves, over and over again, and he spreads his knees and tries to arch away but he can't, he can't get away – his stud has him in his claws and Will needs to make him come. Can't think through the haze in his brain to know that it's impossible, that he can't. He tightens his muscles, spasming with every thrust, sobs weakly through the gag and doesn't know how he's going to be able to breathe.

It is never-ending, painful, his orgasm doing nothing to sate his need because he knows he hasn't earned it. Hannibal finds him like that, sobbing and sodden with sweat, and tuts again, and Will moans, collapsing as the toy finally, _finally_ , goes still.

Hannibal hums, pushing a hand between Will's legs, finding his soft and dripping cock. "Well, this one certainly did his job properly," he says mildly, and Will shivers, expecting pain, expecting punishment. Neither come, as Hannibal eases the toy out of him, unlocks the wheels on the machine and rolls it to the side of the room. These are noises Will only registers vaguely, and he trembles when he feels Hannibal's big hands splay out wide on his ass again, spreading him apart. Hannibal tuts. "Didn't make this one come either, boy. Don't you want to be bred?"

Will moans, weakly, and nods as frantic and heavy as he can. He lifts to his wrists, gritting his teeth at the protest of rope on his sore joins, spreads his knees and bares himself. The ball of the gag sits just shy of his gag reflex, if he tries to speak he'll jolt and try to reject it, but he _has_ to try;

"Please, Sir," he murmurs, though his stretched lips and pressed tongue can't quite form the words.

Hannibal hums. "What was that, darling?"

Will moans as the gag is removed, his mouth freed. He licks his lips and turns his head, catching sight, finally, of Hannibal's dark eyes, his flushed cheek. "I want you to breed me," he rasps, hoarsely. It'll hurt – Hannibal is bigger than either toy, he refuses to buy ones that would rival him in any way. Hannibal's eyes flash, his upper lip twitches in a snarl. "No one else. _Please_."

Hannibal's mouth thins. His eyes drop, to Will's red neck, his tensed back, his open, wet hole. He sits on his heels, touches his knees to the inside of Will's and smiles when Will spreads further, drops down so his chest rubs against the bed, and even though it hurts – _God_ , it fucking hurts – the sound Will lets out is nothing short of agonized want.

"Please," he whispers, and wishes he could touch Hannibal. Tugs on his bindings and arches his hips. " _Please_. Breed me, Sir, fill me up."

Hannibal's eyes flash, and he swallows, wetting his lips and tightening his hands on Will's waist.

His fingers flex, and then he shakes his head. "No," he murmurs, and Will cannot help the desperate, raw whine that spills from him as Hannibal rises from the bed. "You have behaved terribly today, my boy – first, so impatient that you sought out your own hand when you knew I would happily take care of you; then, refused to satisfy the studs I brought for you; and still, spoke out of turn. No," he says again, and Will flushes with shame, bowing his head.

His eyes flare open as he feels, at his wrists, the sharp edge of a knife. He looks up, sees Hannibal cutting through the ropes binding him, freeing his hands, and Will shudders, sobbing as blood and pins and needles flow into his pale knuckles, and Hannibal sets the knife to one side. His fingers twitch with renewed blood flow, and Hannibal grabs him by them, hauling him to his knees and then off the bed. Will goes, gracelessly, hissing as his knees hit the floor _hard_ , clamps on his nipples and his sore ass and thighs protesting such sudden movement.

Hannibal grabs his hair, makes him look up, and his free hand reaches into his suit pants, palming himself roughly while Will can only stare, lingering tears blurring his vision. Hannibal snarls, pulls out his cock but doesn't let Will look – jerks his head so he must bow, braced on his hands and knees, and Hannibal comes with a rough grunt, spilling over Will's hair and neck, letting it drip in thick, warm trails down his sensitive skin.

He lets Will go and Will leans down with another weak sound, licking up what's spilled from him, and Hannibal snarls again, corrects his clothes, and busies himself while Will cleans the floor with putting the gag and pink cock toy on the bedside table.

He comes back to Will and jerks him upright, fiercely, his other hand fisting in the chain connecting Will's nipples and giving them a savage tug. Will shrieks, trembling, flinching to try and get away but it just makes the teeth of the clamps bite harder, beading with blood, more milk leaking from him until he's dripping and sore in all the places except where he wants most to be wet.

Hannibal eyes him, meets Will's frantic, feverish gaze, and Will hopes he can see how sorry he is, how desperate he is for the return of Hannibal's favor.

Hannibal presses his lips together, sighs through his nose, and his hands abruptly turn gentle, easing the clamps off of Will and setting them to one side as Will trembles, on his knees, fresh tears of pain leaking down his face just as Hannibal's come drips from his neck, down his back and shoulders. He is raw, broken open, panting and ruined on the floor in their bedroom.

Hannibal sighs again. "Animals are slaves to their instincts, Will," he says, and just like a swear, the sudden appearance of Will's own name hits him hard, makes him bow his body, want to melt to the floor. "Are you an animal?"

He shakes his head.

"Speak."

"No," Will rasps. "I'm not an animal."

"If you desire physical satisfaction, I expect you to come to me to receive it."

Will nods. "I'm sorry, Sir." His stomach goes tight with shame again, his breath hitching, and when he sobs again, it's not entirely from physical pain. He presses his red knuckles to his teeth and shudders, more tears falling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -."

"Get caught?" Hannibal says, and Will wishes he could see his face, but no – all he's given is that icy tone.

Will bows his head, turns, sees Hannibal's shoes and suit pants in his periphery, and swallows hard. Lifts his eyes, just briefly, but can't quite make himself look at Hannibal's face. "Disappoint you," he says, because that's what he means. Hannibal's wrath is beautiful, his love violent and divine, but his disappointment is the worst pain Will can imagine.

Hannibal sighs, and steps forward, feet barely making a sound. He touches his fingers to Will's wet temple, gathers a curl of soaked hair and twists it.

"You will remain on your hands and knees for the rest of the day," he says, and Will nods, breathing out heavily. "You will not shower, or make any move to clean or dress yourself. Tonight, if you have behaved, I'll give you what you want."

Will swallows, lets out a sound frantic and weak with relief, and nods.

Hannibal crouches, then, so suddenly Will blinks rapid-fire, and meets his gaze with wide eyes. Hannibal cups his chin, smooths his thumb over Will's raw, red lower lip, and smiles in a way that is not quite kind, but his eyes burn.

"I will always give you what you need, darling, even if it's not what you think you want," he says, so quietly, like they are sinners at confession, lovers under moonlight and hiding from the rest of the world. "I only ask that you trust me enough to know what that is."

Will nods, once, and lifts his hand because it is clean, to cup Hannibal's smooth, warm, pink cheek. "I trust you," he whispers. At that, Hannibal's smile widens, and he allows a brief show of affection, tilting his head and kissing the red, raised welts surrounding Will's wrist.

"Good," he says, and stands, and his heat disappears. Will swallows, wants to scratch at the sticky cling of Hannibal's come, of lube, on his skin. Wants to try and calm his hair and soothe his sore nipples. He does none of that, merely plants his hands to the floor and settles on his knees.

He doesn't see Hannibal's smile, but knows it is warm and wide. "Good boy," he purrs again, and turns, striding out of the room. Will, on his hands and knees, sore and shaking and trusting, follows without another word.


End file.
